Playing Dead in Dixie

by Paula Graves

  He nodded.

  She sat up, tucking the sheet around her bare breasts in an endearing show of modesty, a stark contrast to her earlier lack of inhibition. "Exactly what did he say?"

  He told her all he could remember about Phillips' phone call. "He suggested you might want to stay out of New Jersey for a while, though," Wes added.

  To his consternation, she frowned, bringing her knees up to her chest in a position he was coming to recognize as self-protection. "So it's really over."

  Anxiety snaked through him. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

  She nodded. "Of course. I just—" She pressed her lips together. "I've been afraid of my own shadow for so long, I don't know how to feel relieved."

  He stroked her hair. "Give yourself a little time."

  "Can we go back to Bangor in the morning?"

  "Yep. I'll call Floyd and Bonnie down at Floyd's cousin's place to let them know it's over." He pulled her down between the sheets, tucking her spoon-style in the curve of his body. Wrapping his arm around her belly, he pressed his nose into her damp, tousled hair. "Go back to sleep. We'll figure things out in the morning."

  He made himself relax against her, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her scent, an intoxicating elixir of soap and sex.

  As he drifted to sleep, he felt her press her cheek to his hand, one lone teardrop spilling over the back of his hand and sliding down his wrist.

  THE CAR TOPPED A LOW RISE, and the town of Bangor came into view, nestled in a shallow, sun-kissed vale. It was pretty in the morning light, Carly thought. Like a bright new penny.

  "Home sweet home," Wes murmured.

  As their chauffeur-cum-FBI escort steered the rental car onto the road into town, Carly noticed a soft rushing sound. It grew louder as they neared the edge of town, the rush becoming a dull roar, like wind in the distance. A tingle of alarm rippled up her spine, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck.

  She turned to Wes. "Do you hear that?

  He looked at her oddly. "Hear what?"

  The sound was loud now, impossible to miss. Yet Wes looked unfazed, his eyes shimmer with affection as he gazed at the first buildings on the edge of town. "That's the post office. I saw a ghost there once."

  Carly bent forward, tapping on the driver's shoulder. "Don't you hear that?"

  He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "I don't hear anything."

  The noise had grown to an earthshaking rumble. Carly twisted in her seat, trying to find the source.

  Her heart shot into her throat. Hurtling down the road behind them, a wall of water swelled and roiled, racing to overtake the car. There was no escape.

  Carly screamed as the tsunami swallowed the car, shattering the windows with its force. Water gushed into the gaping holes, filling the floor of the car. She pushed at the door of the car, but the pressure of the water held it shut. In terror, she peered through the cascade of water, trying to find Wes. But he was gone, swept out of the window by the force of the wave.

  She reached for her seatbelt, tugging at the metal clasp. But it wouldn't budge. As the water rose to chest level in the car, she fumbled with the seat belt latch, her fingers shaking with panic. She had to get out. Heart clutching with terror, she clawed at the shoulder belt holding her lashed to the car seat, trying to rip it with her fingers.

  Suddenly, a face pushed through the flood of water streaming in the broken windows.

  Her mother's face.

  Carly blinked hard, trying to clear the image from her head. But her mother's face remained, pale, freckled, old before her time. "What did you expect?" she said, her voice slicing through the roar of water.

  "Ma?"

  Bridget Sandano laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that rasped along Carly's nerves. "It's a trap. I tried to warn you!"

  Carly yanked at the seat belt, trying to rip it from its moors as the rising water reached her chin. But the belt only tightened, digging into her flesh and crushing her ribs until she could barely breathe. Panic rose like bile in her throat, choking her as surely as the water rushing into her mouth with each gasping breath.

  Her vision blurred, went red, then black. Her heart hammered against her ribs. But she kept struggling, desperate to be free. Suddenly, the seat belt snapped, and she hurtled forward, stumbling, falling . . .

  Her vision cleared and she found herself in a dark motel room, damp bed sheets twisted around her legs and Wes's arms snaring her against his chest. She gasped for air, trying to calm the runaway cadence of her pulse. Of the dream, only fragments remained. And panic, fierce and overwhelming.

  She extricated herself from Wes's embrace, trying to move slowly, despite the jittery energy bunching and twisting through her muscles. She slipped off the bed and padded quietly to the bathroom to retrieve her clothes, her nakedness only adding to her growing sense of vulnerability.

  She couldn't do this. No matter that every fiber of her body longed to crawl back into bed with Wes and pretend they could have that elusive happily ever after everybody dreamed about. She knew better.

  She should have gone days ago.

  She dressed quickly, patting down the wrinkles left by a night lying crumpled on the floor by the tub. She went back into the other room, pausing by the bed.

  Wes hadn't awakened. Her fingers ached to touch him, to trace the ridges and planes of his muscled torso, remembering the feel of his body sliding over hers as they made love. She touched her cheek, still tender from the brush of his beard stubble against her face where he kissed her.

  "I love you," she whispered, softly so he couldn't hear.

  She wished love was enough.

  The agent sitting outside the motel room gave a start when she walked through the door. "What are you doing?"

  She closed the door, quietly but quickly. "Haven't you heard? You're off duty."

  "I heard you're off the hook up in Jersey," the agent corrected. "That doesn't mean I'm off duty yet. Not until we deliver you back home safely."

  She lifted her chin, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "Bangor's not my home."

  His eyes narrowed, as if he sensed the darker currents behind the statement. "You're not meaning to leave, are you?"

  "That's exactly what I mean to do."

  The agent gestured with his head toward the room behind them. "Is that okay with him?"

  "It doesn't have to be. He's not my keeper. Neither are you." She started toward the parking lot.

  The agent moved quickly, catching her by the arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

  His words must have masked the sound of the motel room door opening, because it was Wes's low, tight voice that answered. "Wherever she wants to go."

  Carly turned slowly, her heart tumbling into the pit of her belly. She made herself meet his dark, pained gaze.

  "You didn't have to sneak out," Wes said softly. "If you don't want to stay, you could have told me."

  She blinked back hot tears. "I thought it would be easier this way."

  "For you, maybe." Wes glanced at the FBI agent. The agent immediately moved down the breezeway, stopping at the end of the building, out of earshot. "You want to talk about this, or have you already made up your mind?"

  "I can't stay any longer. I should have left the first time I tried."

  Wes passed his hand over his jaw. In the clear, early morning stillness, she could hear the scrape of his beard stubble against his palm. "And what happened last night—"

  "Will probably be the only thing that gets me through the next few weeks." Carly slumped against the brick wall of the motel's facade. "I'm not a settling down kind of girl. And you're not cut out to be a rambler."

  "How do you know you can't be happy settling down? Have you ever tried it?"

  She shook her head. "That should tell you something."

  "It tells me you're a coward."

  The words stung. She glared up at him, wishing she could deny the accusation. "Maybe I am. But I don't know how to chang
e." She softened her tone. "If anyone could have convinced me to stick around, it would have been you."

  "Yay me," he murmured bitterly. He turned to look toward the east, where pink fingers of light had begun to stain the dusky blue sky. "Where are you going?"

  "I have some loose ends to tie up on Atlantic City."

  "Phillips said you probably shouldn't go back to New Jersey for a while."

  "I won't be staying long. I'll be out of town before they ever get a grand jury up and running for Dom's associates." At least, she hoped so.

  "And then what?"

  She didn't answer. She didn't know.

  Wes's intense gaze moved over her, as tangible as a touch. She felt naked beneath his scrutiny, bruised and vulnerable.

  "Okay," he said finally. He looked down the breezeway, catching the FBI agent's attention. He motioned for the man to join them.

  Carly watched the agent approach, knots forming in her belly. He came to a stop in front of them, his expression wary. "Can I help you?

  Carly looked at Wes. He met her gaze for a long moment, his eyes expressionless. Then he turned to the FBI agent.

  "Take her wherever she wants to go," Wes said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sarah Jane Burgess went home from the hospital the same day old Nate was finally released from the vet's office after almost two weeks of intensive care for the gunshot wound he'd suffered the night Wes had killed Dominick Manning. Wes and his father volunteered to pick up the bloodhound while Floyd and Bonnie delivered Shannon Burgess and her brand new baby girl back to their own home in Hickory Woods.

  Wes arrived just as his uncle was helping Shannon out of the car with the baby. Big brother Jackson hopped up and down as he followed them into the house, talking a mile a minute.

  Wes helped the old bloodhound out of the large crate strapped in the truck bed. J.B. joined him at the tailgate, picking up the conversation they'd been having on the way from the vet. "You didn't even get an address where to reach her?"

  "No." Wes pressed his lips together, tired of the entire subject of Carly Sandano. She'd left. She wasn't coming back. And he sure as hell wasn't chasing after her.

  "I heard the Hake girl say she'd like to at least send her a birth announcement. Maybe you ought to look into it."

  Wes threw Nate's leash into his father's gnarled hand. "Here. You want to exercise that hand some more, take Nate to do his business before he goes inside."

  And leave me in peace.

  J.B. took the leash, wrapping the end around his bad hand a couple of times for more traction. "It don't get better by ignoring it," he muttered, walking the dog toward the edge of the yard.

  Wes walked up the weathered steps of the sprawling wood porch and caught up with Jackson, scooping him up into his arms. "You still mad it's a girl, buddy?"

  Jackson wrinkled his freckled nose. "Girls are icky!"

  "Yes, they are," Wes agreed, swinging him up onto his shoulders once they were inside.

  "You're a bad influence, Wes Hollingsworth," Shannon scolded. But sympathy glimmered behind her blue eyes.

  He carried Jackson to the sofa and deposited him onto one of the cushions, turning back to Shannon. He peeked over the edge of the baby blanket at the red-faced newborn peering up at him with wobbly blue eyes. "She sure turned out to be a cutie, considering the source."

  Shannon gave him a swat. "Where's Nate?"

  "J.B. took him for a walk to let him do his business before he came inside. He's looking pretty good, considering how bad he was hurt. The shaved patch on his rump looks a little funny, but the stitches are out and he's walking pretty good." The bullet had hit the dog a glancing blow at the top of his left hip. The wound itself hadn't been life-threatening, but the impact had cracked the hip bone, and Nate had developed a post-surgery infection that had nearly cost him his life.

  Bootfalls on the porch signaled J.B.'s arrival with the dog. Nate strained at the leash when he caught sight of Jackson, and J.B. bent to detach the leash from the bloodhound's collar. Wes watched with a mixture of pride and irritation as his father forced his weaker hand to push the button that released the leash.

  He'd been after his father for ten years to work at getting back the use of that hand. It had taken Carly two or three visits and some sarcastic comments to push the old goat back into therapy. Now he had to feel grateful to her when he wanted nothing more than to hate her guts.

  He clenched his jaw, wishing he could forget her altogether. But in the short time she'd been in Bangor, she'd left her mark, big and indelible, on the town. Everywhere he went, Carly was the topic of conversation, from the mini-scandal of her secret identity to the excitement of the gun battle in the pecan grove next to Wes's house. The fact that she left town that night and never came back only intensified the gossip, as people hashed over all the reasons why she'd fled and left poor Chief Wes brokenhearted and blue.

  He'd have liked to deny that particular vein of gossip, but he couldn't even fool himself, let alone anyone else in town.

  He missed Carly more than anyone did.

  He couldn't even bury himself in his work to escape her, because the last two weeks had been dedicated to mopping up the unpleasant mess of Sherry Clayton's fraud arrest. She'd been indicted, along with a sales rep at Shelton Industries, within a week of the county prosecutor's office taking custody of the hardware store's books.

  Though it had been his father's statement that set the ball rolling on the criminal case, Carly had instigated the investigation in the first place. Everybody knew it. Sherry's lawyer was even hinting that he might make an issue of it in the upcoming trial. Wes was trying not to latch onto that subtle threat as an excuse to track her down.

  He took advantage of Nate's distracting romp around the living room to slip outside. He crossed to the ancient porch swing and sat. A hint of coolness drifted through the September air, reminding him that summer was over. The really cold temperatures wouldn't arrive for another month or so, but already the leaves were starting to turn, painting the valley in hues of gold and crimson.

  What was it like where Carly was?

  The door opened and Shannon stepped onto the porch. She wrinkled her nose at him and hobbled to the swing. Her belly hadn't flattened back to its normal size yet, but she looked good. Bursting with health and happiness.

  She sat on the swing beside him. "Too much confusion in there for you?"

  He took the offered excuse. "Just needed a second of quiet before I head back into the fray."

  Of course, being a woman, Shannon snatched the excuse right back out of his hands. "What you need is to get up off your mopey backside and go find Carly. You're never going to be happy until you do."

  "I can't make her come back if she doesn't want to."

  "I don't think Carly knows what she wants." Shannon stretched her arm out across the back of the swing, giving his shoulder a pat. "Did she ever tell you about her childhood?"

  "Bits and pieces. Enough to know it wasn't an easy one."

  "She didn't like to talk about it," Shannon conceded. "But she said enough for me to realize that she's afraid of becoming her mother."

  The comment surprised him. "Strange. I thought her mother was the stabilizing force in her life." From what he knew of Carly's parents, he thought she was in much greater danger of becoming her father.

  Shannon cocked her head. "I guess you could call it stabilizing. I think Carly might call it stifling. From what she told me, her mom was miserable. Trapped in a bad marriage, stuck at home raising three little girls while her husband tomcatted hither and yon—"

  "She could have left the marriage. Packed up the kids and found a different kind of life."

  Shannon's brow wrinkled. "It's not that easy."

  Wes realized too late that what she'd said about Carly's mother could easily apply to Shannon herself. Married young, without a lot of marketable skills, save the talent at clothing design that she wasn't sure how to exploit. He bit his lip, wishing he'd kep
t his mouth shut. "I think Carly's more like her father than her mother." He sounded more bitter than he'd intended.

  Shannon didn't disagree. "Maybe she needs someone to point that out to her."

  "I can't pick up and leave town to go chasing after her. I have responsibilities."

  "You have vacation time," Shannon pointed out. "You have family who'll make sure your daddy's taken care of. Surely you can take off a week or so to see if you can change her mind."

  The idea of putting his heart back on the chopping block for Carly to take another swing was a terrifying prospect. But holing up here licking his wounds wasn't exactly a better alternative.

  If he loved her as much as he thought he did, she was worth chasing. She was worth a long, hard look at his life, at what he'd let it become after he left the Marines and come back home.

  Yes, J.B. had needed him, but he'd really come home to hide from the harsh world he'd found outside his sleepy little hometown. He'd seen joining the Marines as a chance to finally have all the excitement and adventure he'd never find in a place like Bangor, Georgia. And he'd found it, along with some of the poorest, meanest, most miserable places and people in the world during that six-year stint in the Corps.

  He thought his father's stroke was a wake-up call from God, telling him to stop his restless rambling and come back home. But the truth was, he'd been ready to come home anyway. Especially after that tour in Kaziristan.

  Maybe clinging to hearth and home was an act just as cowardly as Carly's restless wandering.

  "Oh, almost forgot." Shannon reached into the breast pocket of her oversized T-shirt and pulled out a couple of small photos. "Got these at the hospital. Sarah Jane." She handed them to him.

  "She's a cutie." He smiled at the scrunched up little face, red with infant rage at having someone pose her and flash a bright light in her eyes. "There are two photos here."

  Shannon nodded. "I want Carly to have one. I thought maybe you could track her down and send it to her for me."

  "Shannon—"

  She took his hand. "Do it, Wes. Don't think about it. Don't talk yourself out of it. Just track her down. Get an address. If you don't want to pursue it any farther than that, fine. Stick that photo in the mail and tell her it's from me."